


Take Me Home (What a Wonderful Way to Go)

by obsolete_theory (ersatzbeta)



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Truckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 11:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ersatzbeta/pseuds/obsolete_theory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another road, another day, another dollar in the bank. Jason's kind of tired of hooking and he's definitely tired of walking and hitching, but what else can he do? He's not going to say no when a trucker pulls over to let him on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home (What a Wonderful Way to Go)

Jason's budget was shit. First, the rent went up. So his food buying went down. Then the utilities climbed, and he cut the food again. It was always the first thing to go when things started circling the crapper. So when he was down to the last pack of ramen in the cupboard with no hope of more and the landlord was threatening to evict him from the motel efficiency which didn't have decent plumbing and did have way too fucking many roaches and was like living in a furnace when it was hot and like a meat locker when it was cold, he knew he was going to have to find a new place.  
  
Except, for fuck's sake, there wasn't anything cheaper. Not that anywhere ritzier would have taken him. Not that Jason wasn't discreet, but he'd been told, more than once, that he looked like he was on the rough trade end of things. He didn't make things any better for himself by punching out anyone who really tried to get into the rough stuff with him, because chances were that they got off on fighting, and those bastards had fucking stamina from all the fuck-fighting they already did, and it was just fucking exhausting and he always ended up with cuts and bruises that ached for days.   
  
Fucking and blowjobs were way easier and less dangerous.  
  
It occurred to Jason, dimly, that hooking didn't make him as much money as it used to. Shit. He was getting old, wasn't he? Bitching about the good old days, where prostitution was enough to live on and the johns flowed like water around him. He laughed to himself.  
  
That had been months ago. Months since he'd had a real place to go. He'd ended up headed west, no particular reason except that was where the first trucker had been headed.  
  
Truckers, now, long-distance truckers…they were fucking goldmines when they weren't completely batshit. They drove all over the place, picking up loads and barely having time to cash paychecks before they found another job. Most of them didn't see their homes for weeks at a time.  
  
Truckers were horny as fuck, and bored, and, more often than not, had wads of cash to drop…provided you could get one to stop to let you on.  
  
Jason'd been walking the same stretch of road for three days now, hadn't had anything to eat for five, and hadn't showered in not-pouring-rain for longer than that. Every time a truck roared close, he put out his hand to hitch, and every time the trucks blew past. He'd learned to duck, a long time ago, to avoid all the rocks spun off by eighteen-wheelers doing seventy-five. He'd learned to spot the crazies, too, the ones who'd play chicken with him or, more seriously, really try to run him off the road. Ditch-diving was not his favorite game.  
  
Then, like fucking God coming down from heaven, an approaching truck started to slow. It even put on its blinkers, which was ridiculous. Nobody used blinkers. But this driver did.  
  
Jason didn't know a lot about trucks, but he knew a custom paint job when he saw one. Dark green, real tasteful, with some sort of swirly, white dragon, like a cheap sort-of-Asian tattoo, except that this paint had cost thousands to do and didn't actually look cheap. The thing eyes that looked like they followed you. The body of the dragon curled over the hood and up to the roof of the cab. Its nose rested squarely between the headlights. There were scales. Lots of scales, the size of Jason’s thumbnail, all over the whole fucking thing.  
  
The passenger-side window lowered.  
  
"Do you need a ride?" came a voice.  
  
Mellow, smooth, not scratched out with hundreds of cigarettes like a lot of truckers he'd ridden with, or drowned with booze. A young man's voice. Thank fuck. At least any pervyness that came his way would probably be from someone within ten years of his own age, and not from an octogenarian who couldn't shift gears and get a blowjob at the same time.  
  
Jason shuddered, then squared his shoulders.  
  
"Thanks man," he said. "Really appreciate it."  
  
He hoisted himself up on the step and pulled on the door handle. It swung open, and Jason hung on to the door and stared. He blinked and stared some more. Hermès Chau?  _The_  Hermès Chau? Un-fucking-believable.  
  
"Why the hell are you driving a truck?" he said. “You’re some kind of…model or actor, aren’t you?”  
  
Great. Real smooth. Jason knew exactly what this man had done before, in fact: only the fucking best thing to happen to the Calvin Klein underwear line since…well…ever, in Jason's opinion. Great wank material, and if he ever needed to get it up for a john, he just thought about those eyes piercing right through him from the pages of a magazine as he studied the long, lean body on display. In his Secret Fantasies, Hermès Chau liked to be looked at like Jason looked at him, dressed like that because he wanted  _Jason_  to  _look_.  
  
Jason coughed and tried not to stare any worse than he had been doing. Well. At least now he knew Hermès Chau's glasses were real and not fake for the ads. Christ, did this guy have green eyes.  
  
"Ah, hah," said Hermès. "I'm afraid that was some time ago. Also, you may be misremembering. Both my sister and I modeled for some time; the camera loves a set of twins. Please, get in the truck."  
  
 _Shit, there were two of them?_  
  
So Jason did, admiring the truck as he went. The whole inside of the truck was custom, too, fitted in a matching green leather that felt like butter and gave gently underneath him, flexing better than when the skin had still been on a living cow. Fuck if the seat didn't feel like a bed to Jason's tired body. And, from a quick glance between the seats, it was actually a sleeper cab, with the cushiest looking bed he'd seen in a long time. Jason yawned. He wondered what it'd be like to fuck in that thing. Pillows, a thick mattress, covers that could smother a person.   
  
He really ought to offer his services any time now, so that Chau didn't think he was just some broke drifter out to con people.   
  
Instead, Jason had the first sleep he'd had in a long time.   
  
  
  
He didn't wake properly until he felt the truck shifting down.  
  
"Whuh?" he said.  
  
"We're here," said Hermès.  
  
Jason jumped at the feel of a hand that wasn't his landing on his knee. He made himself open his eyes, but by the time he'd done that, the hand was gone, back on the wheel.  
  
"Where's here?" said Jason.  
  
"Truck stop," said Hermès. "I thought you might appreciate a hot meal."  
  
A hot shower, too, if the wrinkle of that nose was anything to go by. Jason did a quick sniff of his pits while pretending to stretch. Meh. He'd been worse.  
  
"I'm broke," said Jason.  
  
"So I surmised," said Hermès. "It will be my treat."  
  
In Jason's experience, guys who said that were happy to fuck him in exchange.  
  
"Thanks," said Jason. "'Preciate it."  
  
The truck glided to a halt, and Chau put it in neutral. He twisted the keys in the ignition. Those narrow hands of his looked damn good unbuckling the seatbelt, thought Jason. Business might actually be fun, if Chau was up for it. He himself was feeling warm under the collar, but he guessed Chau was kind of a priss. But what the hell was he doing picking up hitchhikers, anyway?  
  
It took Jason a few seconds too long to notice that Chau had opened the door, come around, and opened Jason's too.  
  
"Are you coming?" said Hermès.  
  
The glare of the lights in the parking lot flooded into the cab and made Hermès’ face a shadowy blur.   
  
"Yeah," he said. "I'm coming."  
  
Jason blinked his eyes, feeling grit shift around under the lids. Fuck it. He didn't need glasses. Hermès was just that blurry naturally.  
  
He slid out of his seat and groaned.  
  
"Shit," he said. "How long since you picked me up?"  
  
"Five hours," said Hermès. "I should have buckled your seatbelt for you, but I didn't want to disturb your sleep."   
  
"Uh, sorry, man," said Jason. "Never really bothered with those, you know?"  
  
It was obvious from Hermès’ look that he didn't. Hermès snaked one arm around behind Jason's seat and he pulled out a long duffel bag. Hunter green again. Christ, did he have some sort of obsession or what? Jason took it from Hermès before he could say a word, and he slung it over one shoulder and balanced the load with one hand to support the strap. Wasn't real heavy, and, from the smell of it, there was soap in it somewhere.  
  
  
They walked across the lot to the main building, where Hermès signed himself in, inquiring politely about trucker stuff that Jason didn’t understand and didn't care about. Nobody at the counter said anything to Jason directly, but he felt their eyes on him anyway, and he heard someone in the room hawk a loogie. Fuck 'em. Half these bastards looked worse than he did. A dozen or so truckers together in a lounge sure as fuck didn’t smell like roses either.  
  
"The showers are this way," said Hermès.  
  
He gave Jason's free hand a tug. Weirdly, Jason felt himself blush.  _Tamp it down, buddy._  It was just someone touching his hand in a not-at-all-sexy way. He let Hermès lead him, even though he could see the sign for the showers all by himself.  
  
The whole shower room was done in white tiles, and, Jason had to admit, it was pretty near spotless. Steamy, hot, and white, it was one of those communal jobbies with lots of shower heads and not very many walls. No one else was in there, though it couldn't have been long since it was vacated. Water dripped from one of the shower heads into a drain on the floor, and a musky shampoo smell was still in the air.  
  
Jason dropped the bag on a nearby bench, which was separated from the shower floor by a seriously pathetic half-wall. On the other side of the room there was a doorway, and Jason could see lockers from there.  
  
"Just like high school," he said.  
  
"I wouldn't know," said Hermès. "I never went."  
  
"Lemme guess," said Jason. "Tutored, right?"  
  
"I studied for my high school equivalency at the same time I studied for my CDL," said Hermès. "Before that, I was busy working."  
  
Modeling, supplied Jason's brain. He was too busy making fucking millions of dollars wearing underwear and getting his picture taken to go to school. Unbelievable. Just…unbelievable.  
  
"Well, you didn't miss much," said Jason. "Locker room'sre all like this except dirtier. Teenage boys are fucking filthy."  
  
"I see," said Hermès.  
  
He began stripping out of his clothes, and Jason turned away. He peeked out of the corner of his eye, though, as he did the same. God, Hermès looked good. A little heavier altogether than his modeling days, but it looked fucking great on him. He looked less skinny and awkward and more filled out in the muscles department. Jason's mouth watered. Hermès was so sure of himself, stepping out of his pants—he had  _skills_. Must have been all the off-ing and on-ing of clothes when he was a model.  
  
Jason was almost jealous. He looked away quickly when Hermès’ eyes moved in his direction and concentrated on unzipping his jeans and pulling the shirt over his head. Jason must've been losing his touch; he couldn't tell whether Hermès was watching him or not.  
  
"Soap?" said Jason.  
  
"In the bag," said Hermès. "I'm afraid I only have one bottle. It does do a good job, though."  
  
He actually sounded sorry, too, that was the weird part. Like he should have known to carry extras in case of vagrant hookers.  
  
Jason rummaged and found the bottle. He also found creamy white towels and several washcloths…and the biggest bottle of lube he'd ever seen. Jason took the high road and didn't say anything about it. Wasn't really his business, what Hermès did, was it? Except, of course, for the part where Jason was going to pay him back for the ride and the shower and whatever else Hermès bought for him. Dinner, he'd said something about dinner. Jason would be showered and fed and ready to tackle the next leg of his aimless journey, and he'd owe Hermès for that.  
  
"Here," said Jason.  
  
He handed the bottle and a washcloth over to Hermès. Hermès squirted some soap out and gave the bottle back to Jason, and then he got under a shower head and cranked it on. The water hissed and started to steam up the room even more.  
  
Jason picked a shower two down from Hermès—far enough to pretend privacy, and close enough that Jason could do his thing, if it seemed like Hermès wanted it as much as Jason did.  
  
Come on, professional pride aside, how often did you get to do a bona fide model, much less one that had served such honorable duty in the fantasy department and was now available in the flesh? If Chau gave him even the slightest sign of interest, Jason'd be all over him like white on rice.  
  
As it was, Jason was happy to soap up and get really clean. The hot water was truly hot, and the pressure was fucking fantastic. He hummed a happy little noise to himself and lathered his hair, scratching at the scalp. He'd get the tangles out later.   
  
Jason sighed and let the water pour over him. He was tired of living on the road, tired of not having a home to go to. It had been...well, not fun, exactly, at the start, but it had been a change. And now that change had become a routine that wore him down. Jason didn't look forward to when he left this truck stop, whenever that might be. But what could he do? Put out an ad somewhere—hooker looking to retire. Likes: hot showers and regular meals. Dislikes: nosy neighbors and rent hikes. Jason snorted. Yeah, right. And if he weren't so broke all the time, he'd find somewhere to live with a shower just like this, and have fancy towels and washcloths that all matched, like Chau did.   
  
He let his thoughts drift, even as he squeezed more soap onto the cloth and rubbed himself down, taking off a few layers of skin. The soap smelled like soap, thank fuck, and not something flowery and gross. Jason was almost relaxed enough to not care whether or not Hermès was interested in him professionally. He could always jerk himself off later, since he didn't actually need to fuck right this minute. It'd be great—the memory of Hermès naked, in the shower, standing right next to him, breathing down his neck, brushing against his ass—  
  
The fuck? Jason jumped to feel a hand on his shoulder: Chau's hand. Even though it was kind of sexy to have Hermès close enough to feel his body's heat above and beyond the water that continued to rain on them, Hermès’ sneakiness made his creepy-meter ping.  
  
"I looked up your records," said Hermès. "Solicitation and fights for the most part."  
  
Jason froze completely, his washcloth just south of his navel. There was something about the combination of Chau's voice and the touch of his hand that made Jason feel squirmy inside. A good kind of squirmy. He tried to go for a calm response.   
  
"Yeah?" Jason said. "Any of that interest you?"  
  
Most people wouldn't do background checks on a hooker. Then again, most people weren't former male models driving big rigs who picked up hitchhikers at the side of the road. Was there some scandal Jason didn't know about, like maybe the guy was an axe murderer? Shit. Was Hermès even his real name? Why hadn’t Jason thought of this before he was naked and wet?   
  
The thought only made the squirminess worse.  
  
Wait a second. He hadn't actually given Hermès his name. So how…  
  
"I apologize. I looked in your wallet," said Hermès. "Should I have told you that before?"  
  
He'd had his hands in Jason's pants and Jason had been out like a light? Life was so unfair sometimes.   
  
"It was…an exciting experience," said Hermès.  
  
Jason looked at Hermès then. The guy was maybe half hard, but Jason now knew, for certain, that he had not stuffing when he modeled. He was hung—not like a porn star, but way better than average. Jason could definitely appreciate what Chau had to offer.  
  
"I see that," said Jason. "And how about now? Showering with me. Does that excite you too?"  
  
Yes. It did.  
  
Jason let his washcloth fall to the floor.   
  
Hermès was way stronger than he looked; he crushed Jason to him like he was trying to make Jason's body part of his through sheer force. His dick poked against Jason's hip, and Jason could feel Hermès’ heartbeat there and also at his shoulder blades, where Hermès’ fingers were bruising him.  
  
Jason didn't care about bruises.  
  
"Wanna fuck?" said Jason. "Or…"  
  
He let his hand brush along the dick that throbbed against him. Hermès bit gently at his neck.  
  
"Or?" said Hermès.  
  
Jason chuckled, and Hermès moved closer against him, fitted them together that much more smoothly.  
  
"S'not like there's a million options," Jason said. "Handjob, blowjob, buttsex. Those are the basics."  
  
"And if I wanted something special?" said Hermès.  
  
The rumble of his chest against Jason's skin made his knees wobble. Jason inhaled; the smell of Chau's clean skin lingered at the back of his throat. But business was business. Even this was, wasn't it?  
  
"It'll cost you extra," said Jason. "But I don't do whips and chains from either side. I've got condoms if you wanna go with option three."  
  
Hell, they were at a truck stop. There were probably condom vending machines all over the place.  
  
Hermès quivered against him, and Jason paid more attention. Hermès was really hard now, and he felt good in Jason's fingers. Jason made a snug ring and slid his hand up and down.  
  
"Hmm," said Hermès. "My bag, I think."  
  
Heh. So Hermès knew that he knew about the lube. Jason wondered, vaguely, if it was some kind of test Hermès set up. Mention the lube and get kicked to the curb, don't say anything and get a good fucking? Jason smiled.  
  
"You look like the cat who's gotten the cream," said Hermès.  
  
Jason cackled.   
  
It took Hermès a full ten seconds to get the joke. In those ten seconds, Jason reached one wet arm over to the duffel bag, still sitting on the bench.  
  
"'Scuse me," he said.  
  
Hermès was still plastered against him, but he moved with Jason and so Jason was able to unzip the bag and retrieve the lube. Hermès took hold of Jason's hand again, the one that didn't hold the lube, and he put it back on his dick. Quiet but direct. Jason could roll with that.  
  
"There," said Jason. "You? Me?"  
  
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"Both of us?" said Jason.  
  
Hermès smiled a polite smile that could have meant anything, but his dick told the truth in Jason's hand. He'd rocked into Jason's palm when Jason talked about Hermès doing him, and his pulse had gone funny at the idea of them using the lube. Jason felt a little funny himself, and he shook the hair back from his eyes.   
  
"You wanna lock the door?" said Jason. "Or do you wanna give some poor bastard a show?"  
  
Hermès pulled back and cut the water off. The room was quiet but for a few drips of water going down the drain.  
  
"Let's live dangerously," said Hermès.  
  
His wholesome, catalog-model smile was completely at odds with the roughness of his voice. It was like he was a totally different person, and this person also had Jason's complete attention. Jason had to swallow, hard, before he could answer—all of his blood was being rerouted to his dick and he didn't have any left for his brain.  
  
"Okay," he said. "Yeah."  
  
Hermès took the lube from him and opened it. Jason reached for his jeans and pulled out condoms from the back pocket.  
  
Getting Hermès prepped was easy. The wrapper got tossed to the floor, and the condom rolled on nice and quick. A little lube on top and Hermès was ready. More than ready; he had a sharp look in his eye, a hungry look. Something in Jason responded to that hunger. He liked it, he wanted it, he craved the way Hermès looked at him. It made him hungry himself.  
  
It didn't feel much like business anymore.  
  
"Now you," said Hermès. "Turn around."  
  
Jason turned and braced himself against the tiled wall. Two slick hands worked at him, one at his cock, the other between the cheeks of his ass. A finger wormed inside him while one hand cradled his balls. Customers usually didn't give a shit about him beyond making sure he wasn't too tight for their liking.  
  
"Unh," said Jason. "You don't—you don't need to—"  
  
"Shh," said Hermès. "I like it."  
  
Two fingers inside Jason, a hand at the base of his cock, Hermès pressed up behind him, his dick lining up with the crease of Jason's ass. The fingers scissored, and the head of Hermès’ cock speared into him between.  
  
"God," said Jason. "Shit."  
  
Hermès didn't wait; he pushed in, steady, sliding his dick in to the root and his fingers as far in as they would fit around the edge. Jason felt Hermès’ balls resting against the back of his, and the webbing between Hermès’ fingers and the very edge of those knuckles rubbed against the outside of his hole.  
  
Hermès flexed his fingers, and Jason yawped, open-mouthed and wet. He breathed out through his nose.  
  
"Too much?" said Hermès.  
  
The problem was that Jason was afraid that it wasn't enough.  
  
The fingers pulled free, and Jason went from the edge of too much/not enough to a comfortable, hot fullness. Hermès moved against him and Jason saw stars.  
  
"Oh yes," said Hermès. "You're lovely, aren't you?"  
  
Hermès nudged a knee between Jason's thighs, spreading his legs out and up, and Jason sank another half inch onto Hermès’ cock. Jason found himself nodding.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "Just like—"  
  
Hermès’ hands found Jason's waist, and he moved Jason back away from the wall, pulling out of Jason at the same time.  
  
"Ready?" said Hermès.  
  
He slammed back into Jason, and Jason had to stop himself from smashing his face against the wall. Hermès pulled out and did it again, sliding against Jason's prostate on the way. Jason leveraged back where he could and rode Hermès’ dick as hard as he dared. He squeezed inside, flexing his ass and milking a groan out of Hermès. Jason panted.  
  
"You pretty little thing," said Hermès. "You could have been a model, yourself, if they'd taken your picture just...like...this."  
  
His thumbs slipped inside Jason's hole and spread him tight enough to be uncomfortable.  
  
"Click," said Hermès. "Pose and click."  
  
And even though it was the dumbest thing Jason had ever heard, Hermès’ voice, his earnestness, his total focus on Jason had Jason getting sucked into it. He arched his back and Hermès moaned. He caught the head of Hermès’ dick inside him and squeezed again, feeling Hermès’ thumbs getting sucked in too. It hurt like fire, made him hot like fire.  
  
"Click," said Hermès. "They're watching you, waiting for you to show them who you are. Click. Turn so they can see you, Jason, so they can see how hard you are and how much you want this—"  
  
With a slurping noise, Hermès pulled himself free. Jason wanted to cry at the loss.  
  
He turned again, went face to face with Hermès and breathed the same air.  
  
"Spread your legs," said Hermès. "Higher, keep your knee as high as it will go."  
  
Jason's balance wobbled when Hermès pushed into him again.  
  
"Shit," said Jason. "Hang on—"  
  
He righted himself by grabbing hold of one of Hermès’ shoulders.  
  
"Your body—" said Hermès. "It's art. Can you feel it?"  
  
"Yeah," said Jason.  
  
His neck felt loose and his balls were tight and his ass tremored, but he could feel Hermès pushing at him, shaping him, making him form tight lines with his body.  
  
"Hip to the side," said Hermès.  
  
Jason's hip popped as he pushed himself to a sharper angle, and a pressure ha hadn't know was there disappeared. Jason relaxed a fraction more and was able to wrap his high leg around Hermès’ waist, still maintaining those sharp lines that Hermès seemed to like.   
  
"Fuck," said Jason. "Just—shit—"  
  
The angle had changed so that it felt like the entire length of Hermès’ cock inside him was scraping his prostate every time he breathed. It was fucking fantastic. The way Hermès’ eyes bored into him was fucking fantastic, too. It was like how he had studied Hermès’ pictures, from time to time. Jason felt himself spurt precome and he prayed. Not yet. Just a little more… He clawed back a tiny bit of control and was able to breathe freely.  
  
"Now touch me," said Hermès. "Put your fingers inside me."  
  
Hermès pried one of Jason's hands off his shoulders and dripped lube on his fingers. He folded himself backward a little so that Jason could reach to part Hermès’ ass and push the tips of his fingers into Hermès.   
  
Jason didn't know how he made it happen, but he did. Hermès’ body was like a furnace, burning hot, but soft and slick with the lube, stretching around Jason's fingers like a dream. Jason wanted to crawl inside him and never leave, but he just didn't have a good way to go far enough in. You and me both. Hermès had liked that, and Jason wished it was true.  
  
A bare inch in and grasping for more, Jason's fingers encountered something hard and totally not natural. He gave it a tug, felt the molded texture of it surrounded by Hermès’ hole as Jason pulled it forward and drew it out of Hermès and into the air. Jason felt his eyebrows rise. He pushed his fingers back in with a squelch and Hermès’ breathing stuttered.  
  
"Beads?" Jason said. "You do that a lot?"  
  
Hermès hadn't seemed like the type, but, clichés aside, the straight-laced guys tended to be pervy and repressed. He could see this guy walking around with anal beads, torturing himself for the hell of it. Some guys liked that kind of thing.  
  
Jason had never found the idea hotter than he did now.  
  
"I find it relaxing on a long drive," said Chau, his breath coming urgently against Jason's cheek. "I hardly ever fall asleep that way."  
  
Jason laughed, then groaned. His whole body flushed, and his cock strained against the tiles of the wall. All that lube…no wonder. How could you even drive like that?   
  
If Jason hadn't been a professional, he would've come already, from the fucking, from the dirty mouth on Hermès, from feeling Hermès’ body swallow the beads and his fingers. Course maybe if he had come already, he could have had a breather and been hard again by now. Coming twice was better than coming once, after all.  
  
His fingers chased the string inside Hermès, and he groaned when Hermès thrust into him hard. But Jason couldn't keep it up, so he let go of the beads and concentrated on pulling Hermès into him as deep and as hard as he could.  
  
Their skin slapped together, slid and found friction again. Hermès’ hot breath rolled over Jason's neck. Jason threaded his hands into Hermès’ hair and yanked. The heel that rested against Hermès’ waist dropped and tightened, pushing against the muscles of his ass.  
  
"Jason," said Hermès. "Jason—"  
  
He stopped holding Jason by the hips and let his hands stroke down between their bellies and onto Jason's cock and balls. Jason felt himself start to come.  
  
He hissed, bit his lip till it bled, and ground against Hermès for all he was worth. He came all over the both of them and, somewhere in the middle of it, in the middle of the thumping of his heart and the crack of his head against the wall and his knees locking, overextending, Hermès shouted. He humped like a desperate animal against Jason, inside him, slipping in and out fast and shallow enough that it felt like one long, jerky, bucking thrust.   
  
Jason held on as best as he could, held it together until Hermès slowed into an easy, rocking move that had Jason wincing from too much too soon.  
  
At last, Hermès stopped.  
  
Jason slumped against the wall, still breathing like he'd been running a race. Chau pulled out of him, and he heard a wet little slap. Condom, probably, gone off to fuck knew where on the shower floor. He'd have to watch out for it when he finally got enough feeling in his legs to move again.   
  
"How much do I owe you?" said Chau.  
  
Completely naked, he reached over the wall. Jason laughed when he got his breath again, because it was better to laugh than to let himself be stunned by that perfect ass, which he wasn't going to get a chance at, because this was business and Chau was done. Christ it was perfect. Knowing Hermès still had a string of beads up there was practically painful to think about. How did this guy do it all the time?   
  
Jason would never get a second round, not if Hermès was already talking money.   
  
At least if Jason got paid he could buy some cigarettes. Hunger gnawed at him, and he'd try to ease the pains. Cigarettes would help. Beer and something to eat. Time away from the ridiculously perfect fucking he'd just endured. (Had fucking loved, but it was a shitty place to be, to love fucking and to be a hooker. That way lay only trouble, Jason knew.)  
  
Hermès straightened himself and came back with a wallet. It was green and shiny and, probably, hand-stitched leather. Just like everything else Jason had seen from Hermès, it screamed money.  
  
"Hmm?" said Hermès.  
  
He looked at the wallet, then to Jason. Jason guessed he'd stopped smiling.  
  
"You do want to be paid, don't you?" Hermès said.  
  
Jason frowned.  
  
"You don't owe me squat," said Jason. "You picked me up in the middle of nowhere and everything. So no, I don't get paid now."  
  
"I see," said Chau.  
  
He opened the wallet anyway and came out with several crispy green bills.  
  
"How much would it cost to keep you for the night?" he said.  
  
Jason swallowed hard. The green of Chau's eyes perfectly matched the green of the money that fanned out in front of him.  
  
"That's an awful lot of money," said Jason.  
  
"I want an awful lot," said Hermès. "Something special, if you recall."  
  
Somehow his matter-of-factness was even hotter than the coy business in the shower. Jason swallowed again.  _Can't have it all, buddy. Take what you can get and then get out._  
  
"Is this enough?" said Hermès.  
  
"Uh, yeah," said Jason.  
  
Hermès shook his head. His eyelashes were long and dark, but it was the green of the eyes that drew a person in. Jason felt like Hermès was eating him alive with his eyes and the way he looked at him.  
  
"I don't understand why you undervalue yourself so," Hermès said.   
  
He pulled out a matching stack of money.  
  
"There," he said. "That looks better, don't you think?"  
  
From the zeroes he could see, Jason estimated it was several thousand dollars. Jason nodded, dumb. Still, his stupid, overdeveloped conscience poked at him.  
  
“That’s a fucking lot of money,” he said. "'s worth way more than what we just did."  
  
Hermès’ head tilted to one side, and Jason could see the wheels turning, even if he had no idea where they were going.  
  
“I have a lot of money,” said Hermès. “An awful lot of money. I wonder…”  
  
The hairs on Jason’s arms stood up.  
  
“I wonder,” said Hermès. “Are you for sale? Not your time.  _You_.”  
  
Jason shook his head, and his hair slapped against him, cold and wet. He was beginning to think this was a bad, bad idea. He never should have gotten in the truck, he could see that now.  
  
“I don’t do the rough shit, remember,” said Jason. “So don’t even ask.”  
  
Shit. It was going to be Banri all over again, wasn't it? Shit, shit, shit.  
  
“I intend to be most gentle,” said Hermès. “I could take such good care of you…”  
  
A shiver of something good went through Jason. Chau was obviously off his rocker, but he made it all sound…believable. Jason’d been taking care of himself for a long time, and he was plenty capable, but wouldn’t it be nice, for once, not to _have_  to? To have someone else looking out for him? It was like Chau was the devil sitting on his shoulder, saying all the things Jason didn’t even know he wanted to hear, and there wasn’t even a fucking feather of an angel in sight on the other side.  
  
"Just think about it," said Hermès. "Give me an answer later. In the morning if you'd like."  
  
Jason's whole throat was dry and paralyzed at the thought of in the morning—there had to be a night first for there to be a morning.  
  
A sudden hammering on the door was enough to make them both jump.  
  
Hermès laughed, a polite little laugh.  
  
"I suppose we've monopolized the showers for long enough," he said. "Time to move on."  
  
Jason nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "Should probably get out of here before they bust the door down."  
  
He took the towel Hermès gave to him and wrapped it around his waist. Then, he crouched on the floor and picked up the used condom and wrapper, pitching them both at a nearby trash can. The condom made it all the way, but the wrapper fluttered to the floor again. Jason sighed. He was fucking exhausted.  
  
"I give up," he said. "Good enough."  
  
He wadded his clothes in a ball and stuffed them under his arm. He knew, without looking, that Hermès was right behind him.  
  
  
The walk back to the truck was wordless. Instead, Jason listened to the trucks screaming by on the highway, and the rumble of engines just turning over. He looked at the sunset and the first bright stars coming out, in between streaks of orange and purple clouds. He sighed. It was the first time in a long time he had bothered to look at the sky, and he wondered what else about him had changed since Hermès had pulled over for him.  
  
When Hermès opened the passenger door for him, and the smell of warm leather washed over him, Jason was frozen. He didn't know what he was going to do next.  
  
 _Get in the truck? Don't get in the truck?_  
  
So he stood there, dumb, beside the truck, and waited for something, someone, to tell him what to do. He knew Hermès was waiting too, waiting for his answer, waiting for Jason to tell him what to do next.  
  
  
  
Jason and Hermès waited, together and still apart, while the moon slowly rose in the sky. They waited, hungrily, for an answer to become real.


End file.
